When Rin opened his eyes, he was not in the hospital but beneath the familiar vault of his family's mansion. Morning light poured through two-story windows, scattering across marble in soft golds and whites. Chandeliers blinked like constellations caught indoors. The air held a bitter-clean scent of ground herbs and steamed tonics.
Two figures leaned over him.
"Da-som. Mi-cha."
His voice was rough at the edges but steady.
The head maids straightened at once.
Da-som pushed her thin glasses up the bridge of her nose, raven hair gathered by a dark ribbon. Her poise was strict, but the corners of her lips betrayed her. "At last, young master. I was beginning to suspect you planned to retire in bed."
Mi-cha's laugh was warm and unhurried. She dabbed his brow with a cloth that smelled faintly of mint. "Let him breathe, Da-som. He's still a child in our eyes."
Rin let the teasing roll over him. On the bedside cart sat three porcelain bowls of tonic, each steaming differently—amber, pearlescent, midnight blue—lined beside bundles of tied leaves and a ceramic mortar. The bed table was a war map of care: tinctures reduced and filtered, cloths wrung and rewarmed, notes scribbled in crisp hands.
He took a careful sip. A neutral chime whispered in his mind.
> [Stamina +2]
[Vitality +3]
[Man hood +1mm]
A second pulse followed, smug as a cat.
> [Overall physical development: optimized.]
Rin paused mid-swallow. Somewhere behind the words, the Codex breathed a laugh.
"Do relax. A blade must be honed in all facets."
"I'll throw you out the window," Rin muttered.
"You would miss me by an inch and call it training."
The maids exchanged a glance—equal parts concern and long practice—and said nothing.
---
By late afternoon, Rin stood before the full-length mirror in his room. The man looking back carried the outline of a boy sharpened into something decisive. Dark hair fell in uneven, honest strands. His eyes—cool, intelligent—held a quiet gleam behind narrow lenses; the kind of gaze that measured a room without seeming to. Handsome, not delicate. The sort of face that drew attention because it refused to ask for it.
The body beneath was neither bulk nor ornament. It was a grammar of motion—clean lines and strongly set proportions—as if the weeks of sparring had filed away the unnecessary and left only what moved.
From the doorway, Da-som sighed like a disappointed teacher. "Unfair. Some of us have to earn our reflections."
Mi-cha peeked past her shoulder, smiling. "If the young ladies saw him now, the front gate would need a second guardhouse."
"Enough," Rin said, but his tone lacked force.
---
Days blurred into an ordered rhythm—steel, ink, steam, and breath.
This household was not merely staffed; it was garrisoned. The lowest of the maids were still A-rank hunters; most sat comfortably above that. Their devotion wore uniforms and aprons, but on polished floors they moved like trained blades.
Albert, the head butler, ran the training yard like a quiet storm. His presence carried the authority of a man who never needed to raise his voice. He held pads in one hand and a ledger in the other, correcting footwork between pages.
"Again," he would say. Not cruelly. Simply as if the word described gravity.
Rin's blade flicked, recovered, flicked again. An A-rank maid met him with a willow's grace, parrying with two fingers on the flat, stepping into his angle to disarm him before he knew the attempt had begun.
She bowed, apologetic and amused. "Forgive me, young master. Reflex."
Rin reset his stance. "I'll adjust."
Albert did not only require effort; he directed it. When Rin tried to bulldoze through a drill, Albert would step in, angle his wrist a degree, and the form would click like a lock opening.
In the library-study, training continued under a different gravity. Albert spread ledgers, contracts, maps of revenue and risk. "You inherited not just a blade," he said one evening as dusk climbed the windows. "You inherited a house. If you cannot carry both, one will fall on the other." He taught cost and consequence, how to read the silence between numbers, when to refuse a deal that felt like a gift.
Da-som and Mi-cha handled alchemy and control. They set candles at different distances and heights, then had Rin make the flames quiver—but not go out—by breathing aura through his hands. They drew sigils in salt and made him thread mana through them without disturbing a grain. Bathwater steamed with permanent enhancement decoctions; meals hid bitter tonics beneath tactful seasoning. The work was relentless, but the house itself seemed to be shouldering some of the weight with him.
In the courtyards and galleries, Rin's friends found their own teachers.
Hyun-woo sat cross-legged beside a fountain as a maid guided his hands. "Not a flood," she instructed softly. "A river that chooses its banks." He concentrated until the glow between his palms steadied instead of surging, then sputtered, then steadied again. A potted plant nearby suffered for his progress and had to be replaced twice. The maid did not scold—she smiled, reset the pot, and adjusted his breath.
Min Jae-seok worked with two older butlers in an empty ballroom—one lobbed weighted practice knives toward him in irregular patterns, the other tried to crack his focus with sudden claps or dropped trays. Jae-seok's eyes barely moved. Knives halted mid-air as if caught on invisible thread, clattered safely down, then rose again at his gesture. After an hour, sweat darkened his collar, but his field remained intact. "Not bad," the butler said, impassive. "Again."
So-yeon asked to spar with Albert and discovered that desire and result were different currencies. Albert checked him cleanly out of stance twice without malice. So-yeon picked himself up with a wry grin and went right back in. Later, in the shade, he worked his knuckles raw on a wrapped post, healing micro-fractures as fast as he caused them—stubbornness woven with recovery.
Evenings ran slower: tea laid with impossible precision; Mi-cha fussing over Rin's bandages while Da-som pretended not to hover; the four friends crowding one end of a very long table like it was a common diner, arguing over trivialities, laughing with the lazy peaks and troughs of people who trusted the room.
---
"Strength without control is chaos," Albert said one afternoon, tossing a set of keys. "Even lords obey traffic law."
Rin blinked. "Traffic—"
"Lesson begins now."
The private track wound beneath trimmed hedges and around stone planters. Albert stood behind the passenger seat with the patience of a mountain and the judgment of gravity. Rin learned braking without jolt, turning without drift, the etiquette of mirrors and distance. Every twitch on the wheel earned a low tsk. When Rin finally slipped the car back between two markers with an inch to spare, Albert let a rare, small nod escape.
"Acceptable. You may not kill us all on the road after all."
Da-som clapped once, softly earnest. Mi-cha brought pastries in quiet celebration. Jae-seok declared himself carsick from the back seat despite not moving. Hyun-woo demanded a turn and almost drove into a hedge. There was more laughter than scolding.
---
On a wind-gentle evening, with bowls and plates cleared, So-yeon set down his cup.
"I'll be leaving soon."
The table stilled on its hinge between chatter and silence. Outside, the lights along the garden wall blinked on, one by one.
So-yeon's gaze didn't waver. "There's an S-rank dungeon that links to Murim. A corridor between worlds, but it collapses almost as soon as it's cleared. My family's hiring mercenaries. I'll cross through." He didn't add because if I don't, I'll always be a step behind you. The stubborn set of his jaw said it anyway.
Mi-cha poured tea as if the ritual could line the moment with warmth. No one argued. Hyun-woo nodded, solemn. Jae-seok offered a thin smile and tapped two fingers to his temple in a wordless I'll be there if you reach out.
Rin held So-yeon's look. "Survive," he said simply. "And don't disgrace yourself again."
So-yeon's grin flashed and faded. "I won't."
In Rin's mind, the Codex rolled a thought like a coin between knuckles. "The child runs toward fire, while you endure the ice. Two paths. We shall see which edge cuts deeper."
---
That night, Rin sank into meditation and found the throne room again—black stone, blurred horizon, the sense of a place not measured by square footage. The Codex played table tennis against himself with the kind of lazy cruelty only masters and cats possess. The rally never ended. The ball sounded like a clock you couldn't see.
"You live in a noisy house," Codex observed without turning. "It's almost… human."
"Almost," Rin said.
"Don't worry. I'll keep you sharp." The paddle flicked; the ball curved a geometry that felt like a proof. "What is a blade if it is not tested until it sings?"
A ripple of humor traveled the link.
> [Restoration efficiency +1%]
[Aura control +1]
[Manhood +1mm
Rin sighed. "If you send me one more cryptic notification while I'm drinking, I'll choke out of spite."
"You'll adapt," the Codex said, pleased.
---
Time found its pace. Under Albert's drills, Da-som's finework, Mi-cha's alchemy, and the Codex's iron humor, Rin's days accumulated into that light heaviness a body carries when everything is being used properly. He fed the Soul Blade steady mana crystals from the vaults his parents had stocked through years of hunting; the weapon's presence, once a distant chill, now breathed faint frost at his palm when he called it. It was still sealed, still sleeping, but not completely. Progress measured itself in degrees only a bearer could feel.
On a morning marked on no calendar, Rin's seventeenth birthday arrived like the next step on a staircase—acknowledged by everyone without ceremony. Mi-cha made sea-salt soup. Da-som allowed an indulgent croissant. Albert pretended to forget entirely and then, during sparring, went half a beat slower on a combination Rin had been missing for weeks. Small mercies are their own gifts.
Earlier that same day, the So family's butler had arrived with a discrete black car. There had been a handshake between old houses, brief and formal. The friends walked So-yeon to the gate, promises exchanged in few words and firm grips. He left smiling like a man looking forward to a debt he meant to pay with interest.
The house felt larger that evening.
---
Departure day came clean and bright.
Rin crossed the foyer that had been echoing with his steps since childhood: the twin staircases curving like open arms, oil portraits burnished by a hundred passings, a marble plinth where a quiet statue of his parents kept watch. He paused, not to mourn, but to include them with a glance, then moved on.
The garage was a hall of sleeping beasts: lacquered curves and sharp lines, old money and new engineering lined in quiet procession. Hidden lights hummed on as he walked. He drifted past heirlooms and trophies until the choice chose him.
A low, sleek thing, black enough to drink the room—edges softened by barrier runes sealed beneath the finish, reflections sliding off as if the car rejected the world's touch. The panel readouts responded to his presence with a pulse like a heartbeat.
The system folded its voice into his thoughts:
Codex Record — Phantom Eclipse
Body: Adamantium smelted with barrier magic; near-indestructible.
Engine: S-rank mana crystal core; silent-idle, predator growl under load.
Defense: Absorbs kinetic impact, stores as fuel for boost or shield.
Utility: Stealth mode, night vision, sonar, toxin scan, wideband surveillance.
Design Intent: Not a war chariot. A sovereign's carriage—safety dressed as elegance.
Rin brushed the hood with the back of his knuckles. The engine woke in a low, satisfied rumble.
Staff assembled along the drive in two lines, uniforms perfect, posture impeccable. Da-som and Mi-cha stood at the front, hands folded, eyes bright with all the things they would not say aloud. Albert was a pillar beside the doors; he inclined his head a fraction, which in his language was blessing and trust combined.
Hyun-woo slid into the passenger seat, chattering through his nerves. "Okay, okay, we don't die today, we get ranked today, and we don't crash the sovereign carriage. Right? Right."
Min Jae-seok chose the rear lounge and stretched out like a cat that had discovered a sunbeam, eyes already half-closed, field humming faintly as if to test how the car's materials responded to pressure. "Wake me when it stops being quiet," he murmured.
Rin settled his hands at ten and two. He did not grin; he allowed a small breath to leave him. For just a heartbeat, he took in the house, the lined faces, the gate waiting.
Da-som raised a hand. Mi-cha mirrored her. Dozens of hands lifted in the same measured farewell.
"Bring it all back," Albert said softly. "Strength, judgment… and yourself."
Rin dipped his chin. The Phantom Eclipse eased forward, tires whispering, then rolling, then asserting. The gates parted on their hidden gears.
The city opened like a book.
He drove out, not as a boy who had been spared, but as steel that had learned patience—toward trial, toward measurement, toward whatever the System thought it knew about swords.
---
Codex Record — Phantom Eclipse (Appendix)
> "Impact is an energy problem. Elegance is how you solve it. To carry a blade through a world of accidents, one must make a car that refuses to be surprised."
Rin tightened his grip on the wheel, eyes cold, lips pressed into a line.
The gates of the mansion closed.
With a thunderous roar, the young master of the blade surged into the world, not as a boy reborn, but as one who had been reforged.
Codex Record — Na So-yeon
Classification: Human — Cadet (Academy)
Path: Healer (Support Arts → Martial Transition)
Age: 16
---
Profile:
Na So-yeon was originally trained as a healer, gifted with restorative mana control and support buffs. Among cadets, he was considered one of the most reliable back-liners, able to mend wounds and keep morale high even when mana reserves ran dry.
Yet beneath the calm glow of his healing arts burned a restless spirit. Unlike most healers, So-yeon detested standing behind. Watching comrades fight while he patched them up left a gnawing frustration in his chest.
---
Transition to Fist Path:
After countless skirmishes, So-yeon began channeling his mana not into staves or chants, but directly into his body. His healing techniques allowed him to recover from the strain of close-quarters combat faster than most fighters, turning every exchange into both punishment and practice.
Now, he fuses the endurance of a healer with the brutality of a brawler. His fists strike like tempered iron, but when battered and broken, he can knit himself back together on the battlefield. A paradox of creation and destruction.
---
Abilities:
Blessing of Vitality (Support): Restores minor wounds and bolsters stamina. Once his main spell, now often used mid-fight to recover from damage as he attacks.
Mana-Reinforced Body: Channels mana directly into muscles, bones, and skin, temporarily amplifying physical might.
Healer's Recovery: Natural regeneration is accelerated through mana flow, making So-yeon nearly tireless in prolonged battle.
Iron Body (Martial): Temporary hardening of his physique, often paired with heavy strikes.
Meteor Rush (Finisher): A chained sequence of burst-accelerated strikes—kicks and elbows into a driving overhead smash—executed under Iron Body. Each contact "stacks" concussive force, culminating in a crater-making finale. Most effective when the target's stance or footing has been compromised
---
Codex Commentary:
> "A healer who chose fists over staves. Na So-yeon reminds us that support is not weakness — when fused with will, it becomes resilience incarnate."